


Protect Me

by HeyMurphy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Racism, F/M, Gen, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Woman, Police Procedural, Slow Burn, Swearing, don't worry she's an appropriate age, it doesn't really have an impact on the story it's just important to me that she's a big girl, plus-size love interest, rated M for swearing and future adult situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-01 04:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15134714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy
Summary: Hank hasn't crushed on anyone since high school, but the manager of the donut shop smiles at him with such sincerity that he can't help it. He's much too old for her, though, he's sure, so he pushes the feelings down like he always does. But when the shop is the target of a vicious anti-android attack and the DPD gets involved, Hank is forced to work closely with the manager, and he realizes his feelings won't be so easy to ignore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me working on my other fic: let's start something new, what can go wrong?? 
> 
> Anyway this was meant to be pure fluff and then I decided to add terrible crimes haha... it WILL get cute & sweet, I promise!

**O’MANSLEY DONUTS**

**MONDAY DECEMBER 13th, 2038**

**9:04 AM**

 

Hank rushed inside the donut shop, shaking snow from his hair and readjusting his scarf. He shivered as the heat hit him, stomped his boots on the mat, and approached the counter. For a minute or two he pretended to look up at the menu as he waited to be helped. A bell beside the register had a sign next to it that read ‘ring me and I’ll come running’ but he didn’t ring it. He never did. He didn’t mind the wait, really. After all, he was just going to work. No big deal.

A woman stepped out from the back room and wiped her hands on the apron around her waist. Oh good, it was the assistant manager. The manager himself was a piece of shit, but he’d managed to hire one hell of a baker to pick up his slack. She caught his eye and smiled. She usually wore lipstick but she wasn’t today. “Lieutenant Anderson, good morning.”

“Hey, Laurie.”

She took her place at the register and leaned forward a little, resting her stomach against the counter. “It’s been a while, huh? How was your vacation?” she asked knowingly. His month-long suspension had made the news. Guess that’s what happens when you break an FBI agent’s face in two places. Some folks at the precinct weren’t happy that he was returning, but Fowler had really stuck his neck out to vouch for him.

“Wasn’t so bad,” he said, which he supposed was true. He’d spent the first week drinking from sunup to sundown, mostly out of self-pity, but Connor hadn’t let that continue for long. Other than that he’d caught up on TV shows, introduced Connor to some of his favorite movies, and for some reason felt compelled to treat Connor like a tourist and properly introduce him to the sights of Detroit. They’d even driven out to Belle Isle and made a weekend of it. Connor had liked the aquarium there. “Caught up on my sleep, at least.”

“And you still look tired,” she said with a little laugh.

“Yeah, that’s just called getting old.”

They shared a brief grin and then Hank cleared his throat. Laurie tucked some loose brown bangs behind her ear. “Well can I get you a coffee maybe? We’re doing peppermint mochas now. That’ll wake you up.”

Hank kept forgetting it was December. “Y’know what, sure, what the hell. I’ll get a big one. And a half dozen of the usual.”

“You got it, Lieutenant.”

She turned away to get started on the coffee and called towards the back room. “Nick, could you please get me a half dozen Boston cream?”

A voice from the back room replied, “Sure thing, Ms. Taylor!”

Hank lifted his eyebrows. He’d never seen more than one person working there at a time. It wasn’t exactly the most popular place even though their slogan was definitely true—they were the best donuts in Detroit. Their location was a bit out of the way for the average commuter, but Hank would make any detour for good Boston cream.

Someone emerged from that back room, and Hank had to do a double take. It was an android, but he wasn’t wearing his human skin. Apparently some androids prefered to be that way, but Hank hadn’t really seen it in person yet. The employee finished tying on an apron and slipped his white hands into a pair of clear plastic gloves. He got to work filling a small cardboard box with donuts, and Laurie returned with the coffee. Hank put his hands around the cup and sighed, letting the warmth sink into his bones.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nine seventy-two.” And she smiled at him again. Her lips were plenty pink enough without the lipstick. “The coffee’s on the house.”

“Wait, no, Laurie—”

“It’s a welcome back present, Lieutenant.”

Hank grumbled to himself and pulled a ten dollar bill from his wallet. Nick set the box of donuts on the counter just as the door swung open and a new patron brought in a draft of icy air and snow flurries, a man with dark hair and a short beard wearing a Red Wings jersey. He brushed his coat off and stepped from the welcome mat, but he stopped dead before coming any closer. “For fuck’s sake,” he said, really hitting that hard ‘f’. “Can’t go anywhere in this goddamn city.” He hesitated for a second but came to stand just behind Hank.

Laurie looked suddenly on edge and her eyes darted to Nick. She took Hank’s money and started to make change.

“Hey,” said the man, much too loudly right by Hank’s ear. “You just let it walk around like that in public?”

The man had addressed Laurie but Nick answered. “I work here freely, sir.”

“Put on your fuckin’ face if you wanna talk to me, robot.”

Laurie’s hands were still in the cash register. She looked like a deer in headlights.

Hank grimaced and exhaled through his nose. He didn’t want to deal with this so early but he couldn’t just keep quiet. “Cool it, asshole.”

“Hey fuck you, old man.”

Nick raised his voice. “Please, sir. We don’t want a disturbance. You should kindly leave.”

“You can’t tell me to do shit. I want a large iced coffee and I’m gonna get one, or else I’m gonna come back there and fuckin’ reprogram your ass.”

Well, that was enough of that. Hank turned and grabbed the man by the front of his jacket, pulling him close. “Listen, dick, you were asked nice. You don’t want me to ask mean.”

The man shoved him, hard. The edge of the counter jabbed Hank right in the small of his back above the tailbone, but the pain only pissed him off. He dug into his coat and just about smashed his badge into the guy’s face.

“You wanna put your hands on a cop? Huh?!”

The man glared at the badge, then at Hank, then Nick, the badge again, and finally Laurie. “I’m gonna call your manager, lady. Get you and this plastic fucker fired.”

That seemed to rattle Laurie back into the moment. Hank had never seen her be anything but perfectly pleasant, but now her eyes glistened in anger. She put a hand on Nick’s shoulder and stepped in front of him, her stare locked on the surly customer. “You’re gonna call my manager?” she said. “I _am_ the manager. Now get the fuck out.”

That shut the guy up. Realizing his tantrum was in vain, he spat on the floor and exited the shop with an unintelligible slurry of curses. The door slammed and the glass vibrated and then the shop was silent.

Laurie put a hand on Nick’s arm, her voice trembling. “You okay? I’m so sorry, I just froze.”

Nick appeared much calmer than her, though his LED was flickering a wild yellow. “It’s fine, Ms. Taylor. You seemed to handle him very well.”

“Yeah,” said Hank, “that was a good bluff, telling him you were in charge.”

“I am.” Laurie blotted away a few scared tears. “Roy retired.”

“Oh, uh, congrats.”

She stifled a laugh, and it was nice to see her relax after all that. “Thanks.”

Hank couldn’t believe this shitty morning, and he didn’t even get the rough end of it. Laurie continued to fuss over Nick for a moment before he assured her he was all right, and no, he did not want her to call him a taxi. “I won’t let someone like that keep me from my right to work,” he said. “If I show fear, I’m giving him exactly what he wanted from me.”

“Shit, you sound just like Markus,” said Hank, and Nick’s LED settled to blue.

Laurie finally recollected her scattered nerves and got Hank his change. Her fingers brushed the center of his palm as she passed him the coins. He wondered if she noticed his fingers twitch. “Sorry for all this, Lieutenant, but thank you for the help.”

“Hey, no prob.” He took the coffee and donuts. “And I’m gonna call for a patrol to sorta keep an eye out over here, if that’s okay. Y’know, just in case he comes back.”

Laurie nodded. “Good idea. Tell them to come inside for a free donut.”

“Sure.” They smiled at each other until Hank looked away. “All right, well, you kids take it easy.”

He pushed open the door and squinted against the wind as he hiked out to his car idling in the parking lot. With a bit of maneuvering he managed to get the door open and leaned in to put his coffee in the cupholder before sitting down. He winced the second his tailbone hit the seat. Fuck. That was going to be a bruise for a while.

Connor, in the passenger seat, opened his eyes. “So? Was she there?”

Hank shoved the donut box at him and threw the car into reverse. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The assistant manager. You’ve mentioned her six times over the course of your four-week suspension.”

Hank pulled onto the road. “She’s manager now, actually.” He could see Connor’s smug fucking grin in his peripheral vision. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything, Hank.”

“Good. Keep not saying anything until we get to work.”

 

* * *

 

**DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT - CENTRAL STATION**

**MONDAY DECEMBER 13th, 2038**

**2:13 PM**

 

The peppermint mocha did its job and kept Hank running until just after lunch, but with a belly full of Chinese food and an aching back, he found himself spacing out at his desk. He blinked hard and raised his eyebrows, smothering yet another yawn into the crook of his arm. He thought his first day back at the precinct might be more eventful—a new case or lead, someone to interrogate, something helpful from the tip line, a busted copy machine, literally anything. But it was just paperwork as usual.

No one even seemed excited to see him, which stung somewhat, though he’d never admit it. Everyone was much more happy to see Connor around again, but he supposed that was understandable seeing as Connor was actually personable. Gavin, of course, wasn’t thrilled to see either of them.

“So the little plastic policeman makes his triumphant return.” Gavin rounded on Connor’s desk with a toothy sneer.

Connor just ignored him and kept his eyes on his terminal, but Hank was in no mood for this fucker’s particular brand of anti-android bullshit, especially after the events at the donut shop. “Piss off, Gavin.”

“And where’ve you been, Lieutenant?” Gavin asked, knowing perfectly well where Hank had been. “Fowler finally shipped you off to rehab?” He snickered.

Connor, unflinching, spoke before Hank could formulate the right comeback. “Your hairline has receded by point-one-four centimeters since I last saw you, Detective Reed.” Gavin made some sort of sound between a grunt and a gasp and touched his forehead. “You may want to see a specialist as soon as possible.”

“Fuck you!” Gavin stormed off and, just before turning towards the restrooms, pulled a comb from his back pocket and started raking it through his hair.

Hank snorted the second Gavin was out of sight. “Ha! Good, hope he goes bald. Would serve him right.” Across the desk, Connor was smiling from ear to ear. “What is it?”

Connor leaned in, conspiratorial. “I lied.”

Hank shook his head and smothered a laugh with his hand. “Jesus, you’re a menace.”

“Do you think I went too far?”

“Hell no, that’s hilarious. He’s gonna obsess about it all week.”

Excitement passed, Hank reached into the O’Mansley box and fished out the last Boston cream. He liked to save at least one for the afternoon when he needed the sugar, even though Connor sometimes eyed him disapprovingly. He didn’t today. Instead, Connor stared intently at his screen for a while and then sat back in his chair, his LED spinning.

“Hank,” he said, “do you think you could come here?”

“What’s up?” Hank wanted to gauge what it was before he bothered standing and upsetting his back.

“I believe I’ve found that man you told me about at lunch.”

“Huh? Really?” Planting a hand firm on the desk, Hank forced himself to his feet and tried hard to ignore the gnash of pain in his lumbar vertebrae. He came to stand behind Connor, using his chair as support as he looked at the screen. “Well I’ll be damned. That’s him, that’s that Kevin Smith-lookin’ motherfucker.”

The monitor displayed the man from the donut shop clear as day, though it appeared to be feed from one of the street corner security cameras outside of O’Mansley. Connor reversed the feed to show Hank’s car pulled into the parking lot, Hank entering, and then minutes later, the man in his car appeared. He zoomed in on the plate.

“This car belongs to a man named Richard Ballmer.”

Hank bit his tongue. “His name—you’re telling me his name is Dick Ballmer.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Sounds fake but okay.”  

Connor continued. “I searched for that name and found a series of uploaded videos. None of them have more than a couple hundred views apiece, but just watch.” He brought up a video that looked like it had been filmed in a basement. An oversized American flag had been hung as a backdrop, though Hank could still see the godawful wallpaper peek through around the edges. Richard Ballmer stood clutching a hunting rifle.

“People of Detroit and America,” Ballmer said, “we’re not through fighting these goddamn androids, are we? We’re just gonna roll over and give them everything they want ‘cause they sang a pretty song for us? They want rights and paid employment and they want everyone to cater to their every fuckin’ need. Well guess what? I ain’t gonna give them shit. They ain’t even American citizens as far as I’m concerned. Just ‘cause they were built here doesn’t mean—”

Connor thankfully turned it off before Hank could get any angrier. “That’s his first video, dated April ninth of last year. There’s forty-three more, the most recent of which was posted three nights ago.”

“Did you watch all of them?” Hank asked.

“It takes me little more than a couple seconds to download and sort through all the information.”

“Not my point. Don’t ingest that much hate in one sitting. It’s not good for you.”

Connor grinned. “Noted.”

Hank stared at the screen for another beat and then pulled out his cell phone and dialed Officer Person. He stepped away from Connor’s desk towards the hallway, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and middle finger. A woman’s voice greeted him on the other end. “Alina, hey. Just wanted to check on O’Mansley.”

“I’ve driven by three times now and it all seemed pretty normal over there, sir.”

“Great. Thanks. You go get your donut?”

Person laughed. “And a coffee too. Nice lady.”

“Yeah, she is.” Hank realized he was smiling and looked around to make sure no one could see him. He coughed and rolled his shoulders. “All right, I’ll let you get back to it. Oh, and Alina?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Maybe one more pass before you head back?”

“You got it, Lieu.”

Hank hung up and breathed in deep. He should’ve figured Person would call if anything was amiss, but it never hurt to be careful. That Ballmer asshole had access to guns, or at least one gun. That was enough. Hank wished he had gone ahead and handcuffed the guy after things got physical, but he hadn’t. And now he wasn’t going to stop worrying until he saw Laurie tomorrow morning alive and well with his own eyes.

If only there was something to go pick Ballmer up for.

Connor eyed him when he returned to the desk. “Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“What? No.”

“You seem ill at ease. Did Person’s patrol catch any activity?”

“Nah, she says everything’s fine.”

Connor tilted his head and made a soft, understanding sound. “But you’re still concerned for the manager.”

Hank grumbled, hating that he was apparently super fucking transparent. “I guess so.”

“You could call the shop,” Connor offered.

For a second Hank considered it, already starting to play through the phone call in his head.

_“How’re you doing over there, Laurie?”_

_“I’m okay, Lieutenant Anderson, but I’d feel so much safer with you here to protect me.”_

He scrunched his eyes and forced away the stupid daydream. “No, no. Fuck, I’m not doing that. If Alina says everything’s fine, then everything’s fine. She’s a good cop. I just gotta—” His desk phone rang and he answered it. “Lieutenant Anderson, DPD.”

The voice on the other end was like a sucker punch to the stomach. “Lieutenant,” Laurie said happily on the other end of the call, “I’m so glad I got through to the right extension. How are you?”

Hank had to pause, sit down, and collect his wits before answering. “Fine, Laurie, real good. H-How’re you? Is everything okay over there?” He could feel a sweat break out on his forehead.

“Of course! I just wanted to call and say thanks for the patrol today. I think I just saw her drive by again. It really made Nick and me feel a lot better about everything.”

Connor watched curiously and Hank wondered if androids could listen in on private phone conversations. “Great. That’s really—yeah, that’s great. Happy to help. Do you think—will you need a patrol tomorrow? It’s no trouble.”

“I have a feeling that he’s not coming back. He’s probably too afraid that he’s gonna run into you again, Lieutenant.”

Hank scratched at the nape of his neck. “Hey, I barely did a thing. You’re the one who got rid of him.”

“He never would’ve listened to me if you hadn’t threatened him with your badge.”

He grinned. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

She laughed into the receiver. God, it was almost a giggle. “Well, thank you, sir.”

They said their goodbyes and Hank hung up, slowly lifting his gaze to Connor, who looked altogether like the cat that ate the canary. “Fuck’re you smirking at?”

“Your face is visibly flushed.”

Hank spun his chair away from the bullpen to hide himself. “God damn it.” He used his desk to stand and limped off to the restroom before anyone noticed him fucking blushing at work like an idiot.

When he pushed open the door he saw Gavin still at the sinks, leaning close to one of the mirrors and inspecting his hairline. He heard Hank enter and jumped and dropped the comb in the basin. For a solid five seconds they just glared at each other, wondering who would move first.

Gavin fetched the comb, his mouth screwing into a grimace. “Tell your stupid AIBO I’m gonna kick his ass if he keeps fuckin’ with me.” He stomped past Hank and checked him hard with his shoulder as he left the restroom. The door clanged shut behind him.

Hank pulled hands down his face and approached the mirror. “Ohh brother.” He spent a moment scrutinizing his reflection, noting the red in his cheeks and the way it made his pale eyes stand out. He looked drunk but he was sober. He didn’t like it. He was a grown ass man, he was too old for all this dumb crush shit.

Turning on the faucet, he cupped his hands and splashed water up to cool his heated skin.

Too old. He sighed. Sure she was pretty and sweet and actually nice to him, but she couldn’t have been any older than thirty. She was probably being born when he graduated from the police academy, for Christ’s sake. That last Boston cream sat like a brick in his gut.

He grumbled, turned off the water, and wiped his beard on his sleeve.

 

* * *

 

**HANK ANDERSON’S RESIDENCE**

**MONDAY DECEMBER 13th, 2038**

**8:58 PM**

 

Hank helped Connor with a load of dishes and took Sumo out in the back for the last pee break of the night. He left his houseshoes and coat by the door when he came back inside, and Connor paused what he was watching and scooched over on the sofa, anticipating Hank’s company. Instead, he turned and headed towards the bedroom.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked, craning his neck. “You’re going to bed already?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day and my back’s killing me. I’m just gonna pop a couple Aleve and hope I wake up dead.”

Connor frowned. “Please don’t make jokes like that.”

“Sorry,” Hank said, exhaling harder than he intended to. “I’m just in a mood. I’ll sleep it off, don’t worry.”

“Maybe you should sit up with me,” Conner offered. “Just for a little bit?”

Hank stood in the hallway, shoulders slumped. He wanted nothing more than to just lie flat and close his eyes and make the day stop happening. But Connor gave him that little sideways smile and he couldn’t say no. “Fine. Fifteen minutes. What’re you watching?” He lowered gingerly onto the couch and crossed his legs on the coffee table so Sumo could sleep under them.

“A classic turn-of-the-century film called Lost in Translation.”

“I saw that once in high school. Bill Murray, right?”

Connor nodded and hit the remote to continue playing it. Hank had said fifteen minutes but soon found himself too engrossed in the movie to get up and leave. He hadn’t remembered liking it all that much when he was eighteen. Hell, he barely remembered it. But there was something about watching it now that made it a little more interesting, or maybe that was just the whiskey from dinner having an opinion for him.

The final scene unfolded with Bob and Charlotte on that busy street, when Bob leaned in and whispered something against her ear and then kissed her goodbye. Charlotte stood on her toes to reach his mouth, and something in Hank’s chest pulled towards the screen. He swallowed and scratched Sumo with his foot for something else to focus on.

“What did he say to her?” Connor asked as the credits rolled. “I was unable to read his lips.”

“That’s the point. You’re not really supposed to know.”

“Oh.” Connor sat quietly, his LED spinning. “I guess I don’t understand the ending, then. They loved each other, right? They could have been together if she divorced her husband.”

Hank patted him on the knee. “Nothing is ever that straight-forward, kid.”

Connor’s LED didn’t slow down. “It’s true that humans have a difficult time saying what they want to say and acting genuinely on their feelings. I think everything would go much more smoothly if they did, though.”

Hank rested his head back on the couch, realizing that the movie had done little to alleviate his declining mood. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said with a dry laugh, “but we’re all fucking stupid.”

Connor suddenly went rigid and blinked hard.

“What is it?”

“I’ve been keeping tabs on Richard Ballmer’s online activity.”

“You’ve been what?!”

“He just uploaded a new video.” Connor’s mouth was a firm line. “And I think perhaps I spoke to soon in wishing that humans were more honest about their feelings.” He opened his palm in Hank’s direction and played a portion of the video on his small holographic screen.

“—can’t even get a fuckin’ donut in this city without running into them. Went to O’Mansley this morning and there’s one of those goddamn pricks standing behind the counter without his skin. Like it’s not enough of an insult to see them normal! And the manager’s some fat cunt, big shocker. She’s probably fuckin’ it ‘cause she can’t get—”

Hank grabbed Connor’s wrist in a death grip and the video stopped. Connor wrenched his hand away and shook it as if trying to rid it of the video’s disgusting residue. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I thought maybe you should know.”

Hank could barely hear him over the roar of the blood in his ears. He felt nauseous. “It’s okay,” he said slowly. “Just _please_ tell me there’s something we can get him on.”

“Unfortunately not. His rifle is legally registered, and he hasn’t outright threatened anyone’s life in previous videos or in comments made online. He has no outstanding warrants, either, though he was once charged with vandalism and ordered to pay a fine.”

“Vandalism?”

Connor’s LED stuttered yellow. “He assaulted an android. It was two years ago.”

Hank stewed in his fury. At least his cloud of depression had lifted somewhat, but he wasn’t sure this was an improvement. Either way, he was too wired to sleep any time soon.

He got up to pour himself another whiskey.

 

* * *

 

**HANK ANDERSON’S RESIDENCE**

**TUESDAY DECEMBER 14th, 2038**

**6:22 AM**

 

The cell phone on the nightstand vibrated and blasted the opening riff to Pantera’s “Cowboys from Hell”, something Connor had helped him figure out how to do during his suspension.

Hank reached out blindly and shoved the phone to his ear. He’d only been asleep for three hours. “What the fuck is it? Sun’s not even up.”

“Hank, listen.” It was Fowler, and the weight in his voice made Hank sit up at attention. His back protested with a twist of pain. “Get yourself dressed. There’s a case. Tell Connor.”

“Sure, all right.” He scratched his beard and rubbed at his eyes. “What’s the case exactly that I have to get up so goddamn early in the morning?”

“Homicide.”

“Figures. And where are we going?”

“You know the place,” said Fowler. “Hank, it’s O’Mansley.”

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I know about policework I learned from 20 years of watching Law & Order SVU, so needless to say this is 1000% inaccurate. Nice okay let's do this!

**O’MANSLEY DONUTS**

**TUESDAY DECEMBER 14th, 2038**

**6:53 AM**

 

Hank had let Connor drive. He was either too tired or too nervous to function on the road, he couldn’t tell. He hadn’t even showered. This was going to be a fucking day.

Red and blue lights cut through the last of the early morning darkness as they approached the shop and found a place to park. A handful of officers milled about by the front entrance, chatting lowly amongst themselves. Two of the three big windows were shot out, the third cracked like a spiderweb from multiple bullets. Hank crunched over the old snow, breathing heat into his hands, and found Detective Ben Collins.

“Morning, Hank,” said Ben, his tone sympathetic. He pulled his scarf tighter. “What a wake-up call, eh?”

Hank peered inside the shattered windows. A body lay on the linoleum floor by the counter, obscured by a sheet stained in the center with blue blood that hadn’t yet evaporated. Something fist-like in his ribs loosened just a little. It wasn’t Laurie, thank fuck. “What the hell happened here?”

“Drive-by, looks like.”

Hank groaned. “Shit. C’mon, Connor, let’s look around.”

“Oh,” said Ben, “and the manager’s around back with the ambulance. She saw everything, poor girl.”

Connor clapped Hank on the shoulder and squeezed. “I’ll examine the body, Lieutenant. You talk to the manager and get her statement.”

Hank nodded numbly. “Sure, thanks.” He excused himself from Ben’s company and trekked around the side of the small brick building. An ambulance sat parked with its lights off and the doors open, and a paramedic searched through a big duffel bag. Another paramedic hovered over a slumped woman sitting on the back step of the shop with her head in her blue-stained hands.

Laurie. Shit.

Hank showed his badge to the paramedic and they backed off towards their partner. He shifted out of his coat and draped it over Laurie’s shoulders.

She sniffled in surprised and looked up. She was wearing a soft white cap over her hair and a matching apron smeared with blue blood. “Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Laurie. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Her expression crumpled. “Nick’s in there,” she said, and fresh tears brimmed along her lower eyelids. “And it’s my fault—it’s mine—ohh, god.” She gathered his coat closer and buried her face in it.

Hank could hear her crying inside the coat and didn’t know what to do. He needed her statement but he also wanted to be gentle, which wasn’t exactly a strength of his if you believed his ex-wife. “Laurie, hey,” he said, taking a seat beside her on the concrete step, “it’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could’ve done differently.”

“I shouldn’t have driven to work,” she said. “Should’ve gone right to the police station.”

“What do you mean?”

She smeared the tears away as best she could. “I think—I think whoever did this followed me from my house. I kept seeing this same car and it was creeping me out, but when I got to work it was gone. And—and then Nick showed up like twenty minutes later. He’d just walked in the door. He’d just got here, and he—” Her voice tremored. “I only hired Nick last week, Lieutenant. If I hadn’t—”

“Hey, hey.” Hank rested a hand on her back for exactly two seconds and then chickened out. “Once you start thinking that way it’s hard to stop.”

She nodded and shivered sadly within his coat.    

Hank wondered if he had successfully calmed her down enough to get a decent statement. He reached into his back pocket for his notepad, clenching his teeth against the painful jolt in his spine. “Okay, so, Laurie? I just need to hear exactly what happened. The whole thing from the beginning. Think you’re up for that?”

She nodded again. “How far back do I go?”

“How about yesterday after you called me at the precinct. Did you see anything strange, or did anyone odd come in?”

“No, nothing happened.” Laurie tugged the white cap from her head, undid her bun, and shook out her sweaty brown hair. Hank caught a whiff of her coconut shampoo and tried not to focus on the images it conjured. What the fuck was he doing? This was a crime scene. Laurie kept talking, thankfully oblivious to the workings of his awful brain. “We closed up at four like always. Everything was totally normal. Nick caught the bus and I drove home.”

“All right.” Hank remembered to breathe and scribbled that down in his pad. “Now this morning. You think you were followed to work. What time did you leave your house?”

“Three-thirty? I think? Or just a little after.”

Hank reeled. He was dragging his ass into bed when she was waking up. Who in their right mind could function at three-thirty in the morning? This woman, apparently. “And about when did you notice the car following you?”

“Definitely when I pulled onto Fourteenth. He was right on my bumper with those stupid xenon headlights.”

Hank kept writing. “And what streets did you take?”

“Um.” Laurie’s eyes were brown like Connor’s but darker, and they darted from side to side as she mapped her route by memory. “Woodward to Chicago. Then, um, Fourteenth. And then I turn onto West Grand I think? Clark? And Toledo to Vernor. I try to avoid the highways.” 

“Great. That’s very detailed, thank you. We’ll check street-level security cams.”

“I mean, it could be nothing. I could just be paranoid from yesterday, and I didn’t sleep so good.” She let go of a shaky breath and a few more tears dropped down her cheeks. “Shit, who’s gonna tell Nick’s girlfriend? Oh, god.”

Hank fought the urge to put his arm around her. He never could stand to see people cry. “We’ll have an officer let her know.” His pen worked in a circle in the corner of the notepad, scraping a deep black indent into the paper. An old anxious habit. “So, walk me through the shooting now, Laurie.”

Laurie moaned and sniffled.

“I know,” he said. 

She sighed. “Yeah. Let’s go to the front. I think better when I’m moving.”

Hank got to his feet, staggering forward momentarily, but he caught himself before she noticed. He held out a hand and she took it with both of hers and hoisted herself up. Fuck, his back was really killing him. 

Laurie fed her arms into the sleeves of his coat. It looked good on her, and he thought suddenly of letting her keep it. That’d be too familiar of a gesture though, he decided. They were acquaintances at best, not high school kids going steady. Besides, what woman wants to keep an old man’s mangy coat anyway? Still, he followed behind her as they wove around the side of the building and walked down to the sidewalk, liking the way her hair brushed back and forth against the dark wool.

She gazed back towards the broken shop windows. “Is Nick still…”

“They didn’t move him yet. My partner’s examining the scene.”

Her jaw shifted and she looked out over the street. “Okay, so, I was in the kitchen when Nick came in.”

“And you said that was twenty minutes after you arrived? What time do you think that was?”

“Maybe four-thirty?”

Hank wrote in his notepad. “All right. It’s four-thirty and you’re in the kitchen.”

“I heard the bell on the door and knew it must be Nick, so I called out good morning and he answered back, and then literally right after that were the first shots.”

“How many?”

Laurie exhaled hard, her breath a fog in the chill of the morning. “I really don’t know. They were close together, like continuous I guess? I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about guns.” 

“That’s fine.”

“But, um—that’s when the windows broke. And I ran out of the kitchen to see what happened. Nick was still—” She gulped down another bout of tears. “Nick was still alive. He was shot in the arm, though, and he turned to look at me. And I remember thinking that everything was okay, y’know? Like, yeah someone shot at us but we were fine. Nick could be fixed. It wasn’t so bad. But then I heard squealing tires and this yellow light got brighter and brighter out on the street, and I realized he was coming back. I should’ve tried to get to Nick, I-I should’ve done something—” She put a hand to her mouth and steadied herself against a street sign.

Hank let her cry as he kept writing. Something felt off with the statement but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“He drove back at us from this way,” Laurie continued, indicating westward down Vernor. “It was so dark out and his headlights were so bright, and I panicked and ducked behind the counter just before he started shooting again.”

“Was it the same continuous firing sound you heard the first time?”

“Yeah.” 

“And then what happened?”

Laurie lifted her puffy red eyes to her shop again. “I waited until the yellow light was gone and everything was quiet. It was probably just a minute but it felt like such a long time, and when I looked over the counter, I saw—well, you know what I saw.” She rubbed fruitlessly at the blue caked in her nails and the creases of her fingers. “I tried to make the bleeding stop, but it’s not like with humans. It just keeps coming out.”

“Thirium evaporates after a couple hours,” Hank said, but his attempt at comfort didn’t seem to have an effect. He hated having to see her so sad and lost. 

The wind picked up, biting right through his flannel shirt, and he swore aloud before he could stop himself. “Oh,” said Laurie, “you should have your coat back.” She started worming out of the sleeves.

“No, no. C’mon, it’s freezing out here.” He stopped her, tugged the coat up higher around her neck, and popped the collar to shield her from the cold. Her brown eyes were warm as she watched his hands, finally settling on his face, and then, just there at the corner of her mouth, he saw it—the smallest smile.

Hank cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. Shit. Fuck. He was close enough to lean in and kiss her, and his hands were still on the collar. His pulse throbbed. He hoped he wasn’t blushing again. What the hell was he doing? He needed to take a step backwards but his body refused to move.

Thank god Connor seemed to have a sixth sense for uncomfortable situations. “Lieutenant,” he called, jogging briskly from the shop to the sidewalk. He slid just barely in the parking lot slush, recovering his balance with the calculated ease only an android could manage. 

The break in the tension allowed Hank to release the coat and turn towards his partner. “What is it? You find anything?”

Connor readjusted his tie and glanced between Hank and Laurie for a split second. His LED blipped. Hank silently prayed for him to have some goddamn tact. “Detective Collins has Captain Fowler on the phone and he needs to speak with you.”

“All right.” Hank nodded to Laurie. “Take her around back to the kitchen, will ya?”

Connor gave her a broad smile and as Hank trudged back to the shop he could hear the kid introducing himself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Taylor. My name is Connor. I’m Lieutenant Anderson’s partner.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen you on the news,” she said. She laughed under her breath and Hank almost turned around to see it. Man, he was too exhausted to deal with this right now. He hardly knew how to handle feelings when he  _ wasn’t _ running on three hours of sleep.

Back inside the shop, Ben cocked an apologetic eyebrow at him and passed the phone. 

“What’s up, Jeffrey?”

“Hank,” Fowler barked, “you had Person running a patrol past O’Mansley yesterday?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

“Some dumb fucker came in yesterday morning shouting about androids. I chased him off but Laurie was kinda shaken up so I asked Alina to—”

“Who the hell is Laurie?”

“Oh, uh, the manager,” Hank said, cheeks burning. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me any of this when I called you this morning?”

“I’d just woke up, Jeffrey, get off my nuts. I know how to do my job, okay? Look, the guy’s name is Richard Ballmer. We’ll bring him in and question him about the shooting after we’re done here. That sound good to you?”

Fowler made some low, displeased sound. A sound Hank knew all too well. “Just keep me in the loop, Hank. Android gets gunned down in what looks like a hate crime, you better believe the commissioner  _ and _ the mayor are riding my ass to solve this case ASAP.”

“I get it. Trust me, I want this closed fast too.”

“I’d fucking hope so. We’ll talk later.”

Hank handed the phone back to Ben once Fowler hung up. “Christ, I need a drink.”

Ben hummed in amusement. “And this isn’t even the earliest I’ve heard you say that.”

Hank scraped at his eyes with his knuckles and groaned. It was time to get to work, he supposed. He directed a handful of his officers to check out the intersections alongs Laurie’s commute into work and get the camera footage. He’d need the street cam from the intersection outside the shop as well as any security tapes from inside. “Anything with xenon headlights, you get the plate.” 

He paused, frowned, flipped through his notes. 

“Wait. Shit.”

“What?” Ben asked.

“Get the plate of everything. Every fucking car, I mean it.” It was right there written in his own handwriting. Laurie had seen xenon headlights behind her, but yellow headlights during the shooting. God fucking damn it, that’s what seemed off about Laurie’s statement. Were there multiple parties involved? That would certainly complicate matters. And was dumbass Dick Ballmer even capable of orchestrating a murder like this?

Hank approached Nick’s body, knelt down with a grunt, and drew the sheet back. Someone had manually closed his eyes, leaving faint thirium smudges on the white plastic lids. Probably Laurie. He stared at the grayed-out LED. Fresh murder scenes were old news to Hank, but this was the first time he’d interacted with the victim literally the day before. It felt really fucking weird.

“What’s the ETA on the coroner from CyberLife?” he asked.

Ben looked at his watch. “Probably ten minutes.”

Hank went to push himself up but realized his back might actually give if he attempted it. “Hey Ben, could you—I need a lift.”

“I gotcha.” Ben hefted him into a more upright position but Hank still stood hunched with a hand on the offending vertebrae. “Hot date last night?”

Hank grumbled out a laugh. “Very funny.” He leaned against the counter. “All right, so Connor and I are gonna go pick up a suspect. Name’s Richard Ballmer, he was here yesterday. Hopefully his car’s gonna match some of the security footage we find and this’ll be an open and shut case. I’d like for you to stick around for the coroner and see that everything’s done by the books. Jeffrey says the mayor’s keeping an eye on this so everything needs to be perfect.”

“No prob, Hank.”

“Oh, and can you make sure someone takes the manager to the precinct? Laurie Taylor? She thinks she might’ve been followed to work so she shouldn’t go home until we get more information.”

“You got it.”

“The lounge upstairs might be a good place for her. Definitely better than putting her in the bullpen or interrogation, even if it’s one of the nicer rooms.”

“Okay, Hank.”

“Have them keep an eye on her, too. Don’t let her be alone for too long. She’s not doing great.”

Ben tilted his head and grinned. “Hank, would you rather take her yourself?”

“What?”

“Hank.”

Shit. Was he being obvious? Or was Ben just good at reading him? That would make sense, he supposed. Despite his placid demeanor, or maybe because of it, Ben was one of the sharpest detectives in Detroit. Hank sighed, frustrated at himself. “I’ve got some recent history with Ballmer. It should be me who brings him in.”

“Oh yeah? How? You’re holding your back like an old man.”

“I’m fifty-three, not ninety-three. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll have Connor.”

Ben shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Of course I fucking say so,” Hank groused, gingerly leaving the support of the counter in search of his partner. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

* * *

**RICHARD BALLMER’S RESIDENCE**

**TUESDAY DECEMBER 14th, 2038**

**7:51 AM**

 

He should’ve listened to Ben.

Hank gripped the top of the passenger side door for dear life and struggled to exit the car. Why did he have to be such a stubborn old fuck? And why the hell didn’t he pop a few painkillers before leaving the house? He took a couple calming breaths, puffing icy clouds into the air, and stepped away towards the house.

It was a split-level done up in dark red brick, probably built in the seventies or eighties and not renovated much after that. The roof sagged under old snow and rotting leaves. The trees were overgrown and oppressive. He could see the basement windows just around the low side of the house, framed in lace curtains. He wondered if Ballmer was down there now filming another video already.

“Hank,” said Connor, pocketing the car keys, “are you all right? Your posture suggests you’re in pain.”

“Just my back. I’ll live. Let’s do this.”

Connor nodded slowly. “Okay. But stay behind me if things get physical.” 

They approached the front door and Hank knocked on the flaking paint.

No answer.

Connor rang the bell, and after a short wait the door cracked open. A woman firmly in her sixties in hair rollers and Tweety Bird pajamas peered out at them. “Hello?” she said. “Sorry boys, I don’t buy anything from salesmen.”

Hank flashed his badge. He wondered how official he looked just standing there in his flannel button-up. At least Connor was in a proper suit. “We’re the police. I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson and this is my partner, Connor. Does Richard Ballmer live here?”

Her little eyes widened. “Yes, he does. I’m his grandmama, Patty, and this is my house. He in trouble or something?”

“That depends,” said Hank, which was the wrong answer.

She used her tongue to pick at something between her teeth. “You got a warrant?”

Connor smiled pleasantly and far too wide. He was deceptively good at playing the altar boy when the situation called for it. “No, ma’am, there’s no warrant necessary. He’s not under arrest at this time. We’d just like to speak with him at the precinct about an ongoing case.”

Patty scrutinized him up and down and then put a red-nailed hand to her mouth in surprise. “You’re an android.” She turned to Hank with a grin yellowed from decades of smoking. “Well ain’t it the cutest damn thing, playing detective. Would you like to come in for a spell? It can come too if you want.”

“Ma’am,” said Hank pointedly, beyond done with the woman, “have Richard come upstairs and we’ll be on our way.”

That was also the wrong answer. The nicety dropped from Patty’s face and she receded a step into the home. “Ain’t that a shame. Let me go fetch him.” She closed the door and there came two unmistakable sounds—a lock clicking into place and then, louder, the metallic crunch of a shotgun forestock.

Oh fuck.

“Away from the door!” Hank shoved himself into Connor, but Connor had the same idea and he was stronger. Both of them careened off the front steps to the concrete walkway below just as the door splintered from a booming gunshot. 

Connor patted at Hank’s chest, searching him. “Are you hurt?”

He was, just not from any bullet. Through a wincing daze he wondered if maybe his back was broken.

The shotgun prepped a second time but Connor was on his feet and inside the house before Patty could fire again. There came a slew of colorful curses and shoes and slippers scuffing on the rug in the entryway.

Hank wanted to cry. Maybe he would just die here. That would be good, he thought.

Glass shattered around the side of the house. The basement windows.

Richard was making a fucking break for it.

Hank sputtered into action, lumbering up and growling like some kind of wounded beast. He made it to the corner of the house just as Richard Ballmer flopped himself out of the small set of windows. The guy had obviously never done this before, and he’d managed to cut himself pretty nicely along his calf and hand. Hank drew his gun, blinking hard to stay present in spite of the overwhelming need to lay down and wail in agony.

“On the ground, Ballmer,” he called to him. Ballmer actually yelped and then did as he was told, already putting hands on his head. Hank yanked at his arms to handcuff him, pulled him up, and brought him to the front steps of the house where Patty sat and glowered like a cat fished from the bath. “Well aren’t you two a fucking pair.”

“He’s my grandbaby,” Patty spat. “He didn’t do nothin’.”

Ballmer, scared and bleeding, exercised his right to remain silent.

Connor’s LED flickered. “I’ve called in for backup. They should arrive shortly.”

And they did, and they took grandmama and grandbaby away. A handful of squad cars and an ambulance remained behind, their personnel wandering about between the front and back yards.

Hank phoned Fowler and paced the driveway. 

“Hank, I heard there was an issue at your suspect’s house.”

“Yeah, his grandmother’s a piece of work. Went real sideways.”

Fowler paused on the other end. “Hm. You don’t sound like a cop who just caught his man.”

“That’s because I’m not,” said Hank, massaging at his forehead to ward off a headache. His hands were shaking. “Ballmer’s a legit shitbag but he’s not a vicious murderer. No way in hell he shot up O’Mansley. Not based on what I just saw of him anyway.”

“What about the old woman? She’s obviously capable of shooting at someone.”

“Sure, to protect her dumbass grandson.”

Fowler exhaled right into the receiver. “All right, I’ll trust your instincts, but I still want you to question them when you get here.”

“Fine.” Hank pushed sweaty bangs behind his ears. “We’re heading back, then.” 

He hung up and the adrenaline keeping him functional poured from his body like water through a busted hydrant. He staggered and clung to the mailbox so he wouldn’t fall, pain twisting in his spine and down his thighs. His knees buckled and he went down hard enough to scrape his palms, though somehow sprawling out flat at the edge of the driveway felt better than trying to stay on his feet. The relief was like a drug, nice and soothing.

Hank pressed his beardy cheek into the cold pavement and tried to ignore the encroaching sound of Connor calling his name in a panic.

“Hank!  _ Hank _ !”

“M’fine, Connor.”

“You’re face-down on the ground.”

“It’s all good.”

Connor knelt beside him. “Are you unable to stand?”

“That...might have something to do with it.”

“I’m bringing the paramedics over here so they can take you to the hospital.”

Hank snatched the hem of Connor’s slacks to prevent him from going. “Don’t you dare. I’m not—I’m not getting in that ambulance. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re clearly injured.”

“Fuck off. I don’t wanna move. I just wanna go back to sleep until this day is over with.”

After a thoughtful spin of his LED, Connor stood up. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” He dusted off his knees, straightened his tie. “When I return to the precinct I’ll be sure to let Ms. Taylor know you won’t be back today.”

Hank huffed. “That’s a dirty goddamn trick, Connor.”

Connor’s grin was absolutely shit-eating. “Did it work?”

 

* * *

 

**DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT - CENTRAL STATION**

**TUESDAY DECEMBER 14th, 2038**

**1:33 PM**

 

Captain Jeffrey Fowler looked apologetic, which he often didn’t. “I’m sorry, Hank, but I’m not going against what that ER doctor said. Keeping you on desk duty is what’s best for right now. A spinal contusion isn’t something to take lightly.”

Hank sat in his captain’s office, doped up on just enough hospital-issue painkillers that his head felt like a Pink Floyd song. At the moment it was, predictably, “Comfortably Numb”. 

“Desk duty?” he repeated. “C’mon, Jeffrey, what the fuck.”

“Just for the week,” Fowler clarified. “I know your suspension just ended and this isn’t ideal, but rest up and you’ll be back in action soon enough.”

Hank swallowed, throat dry. “This is total horseshit. I’ve got a case to work. Who’re you gonna even give it to? Ben?” He made a face. “Gavin?”

“I was actually thinking of promoting Connor to lead on this case with Ben as his partner.”

Connor, standing just out of sight on Hank’s left, made a brief sound of shock. “Captain, are you sure? I’ve never been the lead before.”

Fowler shifted some papers on his desk. “Everyone has to start somewhere. And with Hank on desk duty, he’ll be around in a mentor capacity should you need any guidance.” He glanced between the two of them. “All right? We good? Dismissed.”

Hank hobbled out of the office and made it down to his desk but didn’t sit, just stood there and stared at the swirling screensaver on his terminal as “Brain Damage” crackled in the back of his skull like an old radio station. He really hated being doped up, feeling weightless but also somehow thick and heavy. Drunk was different. He could handle drunk. Well, most of the time.

Connor touched his elbow to get his attention.

“Hm?”

“Are you all right?”

“What? Sure, totally.”

“I’m still your partner, Hank. It’s just for this case.”

Hank laughed and it was unconvincing. “Yeah. I know that. Of course.”

Connor gave his arm a reassuring pat. “Well, okay. I suppose I’ll take Detective Collins and question Richard and Patty Ballmer while they’re still riled up.” He lingered for a moment and Hank knew he was waiting for confirmation that he was making the correct decision. 

“Good idea,” he said, and Connor’s stature visibly relaxed. “I’ll go, uh, find Laurie. See how she’s holding up.”

“Sounds like a plan. We’ll meet up later.”

They went their separate ways—Connor to the break room to find Ben, and Hank upstairs to find Laurie in the guest lounge. It was weird as hell, Connor going off to work a case on his own without him. Not that Hank was upset or anything. Far from it. He couldn’t be happier for the kid. It was about time he got the opportunity. Still, it left him feeling some kind of emotion he hadn’t been prepared for.

Left out. Washed up. Forgotten about.

Something in that ballpark.

The staircase to the second floor might as well have been the steps up the side of one of those fucking Mayan pyramids. He reached the top, bent over, brow beaded with sweat, and pain throbbed though the cloud of painkillers. He should’ve just taken the dignity hit and rode the elevator.

Hank approached the entrance to the guest lounge, fully expecting to see Laurie engaged in spirited conversation with half a dozen officers. As he peeked inside, however, everything was quiet. And she was alone.

Laurie slept on one of the sofas, head buried in a throw pillow, Hank’s winter coat slung over her like a blanket. A can of Dr. Pepper and a half-eaten muffin were left on the small table beside her. The sight paused Hank’s advance into the room. No way on earth could he possibly wake her. That’d just be cruel. 

He sighed, backed up into the hallway, and went slack against the wall. Maybe this was for the best. His head wasn’t exactly screwed on right at the moment. He didn’t want to say anything stupid.

Or  _ do _ anything stupid.

Christ, he’d almost kissed her this morning, and that was  _ before _ being medicated.

“Lieutenant? Is that you?” Laurie’s voice carried into the hall and a rush of adrenaline pushed his heart flush to his ribs. For a second he wondered if he could just slip away to the elevator unnoticed but he didn’t trust himself to be stealthy in his current state.

He had to go in.

Laurie rose from the couch cushions as he entered, her brown hair a mess, eyes sleepy. She stretched her arms high and the thin material of her sweater pulled up a little over the soft curve of her stomach. Fuck. Oh no.  _ Fuck _ . He couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. The song was now the climax of “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” and she smiled at him and was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

Hank braced himself and tried to seem casual. “Laurie. Hey. You look—” He swallowed. “—awake.”

Smooth.

“Yeah, I heard you walk in. I’m a really light sleeper when I’m not at home.” Laurie grabbed for the Dr. Pepper and took a long sip. “Oh, I heard you and your partner went after that guy from yesterday and there was some trouble. Are you two okay?”

Hank put his hands in his pockets. That was casual, right? “Sure, sure,” he said. “He tried to get away and his grandmother shot at us but we’re totally fine.”

“You got  _ shot _ at?” Laurie stood up and went to him. For a second he thought she might reach right out and touch him, but her hands stopped just shy of his flannel shirt. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Yeah, no worries.” Hank wasn’t about to divulge his stupid back injury. If he’d been fifteen or twenty years younger it wouldn’t even be an issue. “What about you?”

Laurie nodded a bit. “I’m good. Detective Collins spent a little time with me when we got here. Mostly I’ve just been trying to sleep.”

“Ah.” Hank rubbed at the back of his neck. “Sorry I woke you up, then. I’ll get out of your hair so you can rest some more.”

“No, no, okay.” She was still smiling. He really couldn’t put into coherent thought just how much of a relief it was to see her this way after the evenings of the morning. “One of the detectives was going to drive me back to my house in a little bit anyway so I can get a few things.”

“Get a few things?”

“Oh, they wanna put me up in a hotel for the night. Just to keep me safe, I guess. They must really think someone was following me, huh?”

A tremor of fear passed through her eyes and Hank had the sudden desire to hold her in his arms until it disappeared. “Well, it’s too soon to tell for sure,” he said, which was the truth. “This would just be a precaution. Don’t worry, though, I won’t let anything happen to you.” The moment the words left his mouth he felt his face heat up. He’d meant ‘we’.  _ We  _ won’t let anything happen to you. 

Laurie looked up at him. There was a reverence in her stare that made his toes curl in his boots. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Don’t kiss her. Don’t kiss her.  _ Don’t kiss her _ .

“Who’s supposed to drive you home?” he asked instead.

“Oh. Um.” She pursed her lips together in thought. “Detective...Reese? I’m getting that wrong.”

Hank groaned. “Reed. And I can’t in good conscience let that happen.” He thumbed at the doorway. “C’mon. I’ll take you.”

“For real?” Laurie grabbed up her purse and then his coat, putting it back on to his surprise. “Do you mind if I keep wearing this for a little bit longer? It’s so comfortable.”

“Oh, uh—no. I don’t mind. Looks better on you anyway.”

She beamed at him. “You’re sweet.”

Hank followed after her then, body aching, heart screaming like Clare Torry’s solo from “The Great Gig in the Sky”, and he knew for a fact in that moment that he was falling hard for the donut shop girl.

He was so completely fucked.


End file.
